After Kirkwall
by Nameless She
Summary: <html><head></head>Marian Hawke is ambushed by templars only to be rescued by the last man she expected to see again. Inspired by a kinkmeme prompt.</html>


A/N: Dragon Age isn't mine in any way, shape, or form. No money is made blah blah blah disclaimer. Please don't sue. Inspired by a kink meme prompt.

"Surrender and you will be spared!"

God damn templars. Marian ducked behind the boulder, sword drawn in one hand while the other tried to hold back her trusty Mabari, Dog. He didn't share her fears. Sometimes, Marian could swear he thought he was immortal.

"I think you've confused me for someone else," she said, "I've no quarrel with the templars."

"Is that so, Serrah Hawke, or have you forgotten the blood you spilled in Kirkwall's fair streets?"

She snorted.

"There's nothing fair about Kirkwall," she said.

"This is your last chance. Out of respect for your station and the good you've done, we'll let you live on the condition you tell us where the abomination is."

So that's what this was about. Anders. The bitter feeling she'd struggled with since they parted ways came back full force. The destruction of the chantry had been unforgivable, but she'd let him live. Maker only knows why. He'd deserved death for what he'd done, for Elthina, for the other sisters; she'd come so close to granting Sebastian's wish, but damn her fool heart, she just couldn't kill him.

Instead, she'd sent him away while she waded into the mess he created to try to salvage something from Kirkwall's Circle. She'd joined the mages for Bethany, and if Anders hadn't lost his bloody mind, she would have stood beside him as they fought for freedom. If he hadn't lied to her, if he hadn't used her-

"How the hell should I know where that bastard is? Haven't seen him since Meredith went mad."

It was the templars' turn to snort derisively, and she couldn't blame him.

"We know he's here," he said, "We're not half as dumb as you think we are. We know you wouldn't leave your pet apostate."

"Yeah, shows what you know," she said.

Toward the end, her relationship with the apostate had been no secret to anyone with half a brain. He'd moved in not long after their return from the deep roads, not long after Bethany was taken to the circle. Her grip tightened around her blade.

That could have been prevented—if she'd only listened to Bethany when she'd asked to come along. If she hadn't left her in Gamlen's hovel, she'd never have been caught and she wouldn't have had to side with the mages and turn herself into a fugitive.

Damn it, Anders, just damn it.

It wasn't fair to blame everything on him, but for the moment, it felt good. If she survived this nonsense with the vigilante templars, she might be able to convince herself to forgive him and move on with her life.

Dog tensed, ears pricking at some sound only he could hear. A second later, barely a second, she felt the air move behind her. She let go of Dog's collar as she turned; he took off snarling. Metal clanged against metal as she blocked the blow. The templar caught her wrist and tried to force her to her knees.

She heard Dog take down one of the templar's brothers while she struggled to keep the blades crossed and away from her face. She stomped down on his foot, and when he let go of her wrist, she twisted her sword down to bury it deep in his gut.

They just didn't make good armor like they used to, she wanted to quip, but the twang of an arrow as it zipped past her cheek stilled her tongue. She jerked back. She hated archers almost as much as she hated blood mages. They had an uncanny ability to come back from the brink of defeat with a nasty surprise.

She had no desire to pluck a poison arrow out of her chest.

"Dog, find!"

The mabari barked and left the templar he'd been stalking. He darted into the bushes. The templar rounded on her with a flourish. As their blades connected, she was flooded with a sense of dread. This was no ordinary grunt.

She deflected another blow. The force drove her to one knee. This was the mother of all templars, a bucket head extraordinaire, without the actual bucket. Unlike his fallen brethren, this one thought it was safe to parade around helmetless. She ducked under his blade, rolling to avoid a well placed kick to the ribs. What she wouldn't have given to see Fenris swoop in or Aveline. While Marian could hold her own against most of the knuckleheads who tried to collect the bounty on her head, she was still human.

She caught an elbow to the face. This guy was another thing entirely. If he was human, and that was a very big if, she'd gladly turn herself in to the templars for punishment. A part of her wondered if the Templars had started recruiting the surviving Qunari, left behind after the death of their Arishok. It'd take no small feat to save herself this time.

That had been another fight she should have lost. If not for Dog, she'd have felt his steel cut open her gut like a knife through a soft loaf of bread. Her vision dimmed for a moment, too long. When she recovered, when her head cleared, she felt the impossible.

Cold metal cut deep into her belly. Her blood spilled down the blade and when he twisted and pulled-she fell to her knees, eyes shutting to keep out the image. She dropped her sword in the dirt.

"Any last words?"

His voice seemed to come through a tunnel; she could barely think, let alone speak. Her body was suddenly cold. A fist caught her hair, forced her head back roughly. Her lips parted, and she could taste blood.

She mumbled something. Her hands pressed to the wound in a futile attempt to keep everything together. She felt her blood gush between her fingers. Somewhere in the distance, she heard Dog's victory bark as he made short work of that damn archer.

"Speak up. The world will want to immortalize the Champion's last words," he said, "Beg for mercy."

He leaned in close, his ear so close to her lips she could have kissed him if she wanted to. She forced herself to smile.

"I said, fuck you."

She latched on to his ear and pulled. He screamed as she tore it free and spat it at his feet. He recovered long enough to hit her, one fist to her jaw. She felt her body go limp and she couldn't seem to catch her breath.

Blood pooled in her throat. She choked, vision dimming as the one eared templar raised his sword for one last blow-his body erupted into white hot flame. He screamed and screamed and screamed. The stench of burning flesh and burning hair filled her nostrils.

She couldn't move, but she could feel the heat of the fire. It was real. It had to be, but how was it possible? She fought to stay conscious, to hold on long enough to be sure Dog was alright, but it was too late. Darkness claimed her.

...

Death was a funny thing, Marian realized as pain twisted in her gut. She'd always assumed once you were dead, that was it; you didn't hurt, you didn't feel, you didn't have any worries left, but it was all shit. The dead did feel. And right now, she felt terrible.

The pit of her stomach throbbed like nobody's business and her mouth tasted like blood and ash. Do the dead even have mouths, she wondered, trying to keep her thoughts from the twisting, burning sensation gnawing at her. Another impossible sensation, the featherlight touch of a hand on her face and the brush of rough lips against her cheek.

"Marian, please wake up."

She choked on her own breath. She knew that voice. She'd know that voice anywhere, and if he was here, she couldn't be dead.

"I know you're awake," he said.

Dog whined and pushed his nose under her hand. The cold made her start, and her eyelids flutter. When she opened them, the first thing she saw was the man responsible for the last few months' misery. How he was here when she needed him the most was impossible. Unthinkable.

"Anders?"

He took her hand, squeezed it once, and while she was still reeling from the sight of him, he smacked her in the back of the head with his other hand.

"Ow, what was that for?"

"Of all the stupid, harebrained-you nearly got yourself killed," he said, "If you ever do something like that again-"

Dog barked in agreement, his tail thumping on the ground. Great, just great. She'd almost died and she was getting a lecture on common sense from the man who'd blown up Kirkwall's Chantry. Not only that, but her trusty, faithful mabari companion was backing him up. Him. Anders. The self proclaimed "cat man". Next thing, they were going to tell her she was a mage and Carver was alive and well and serving as a Grey Warden.

"Not my fault he got the drop on me," she said, "Did you see him? He was the size of a small mountain, probably horned and breathing fire."

"The fire was mine," Anders said, "And you're welcome, by the way."

If he hadn't looked so weary, she would have introduced him to her trusty old right hook.

"You're lucky I don't tell Dog to eat you," she said.

"For what? For saving your life? Well, be my guest milady! I'll remember that the next time you're bleeding out into the dirt."

"And whose fault is that in the first place? Who blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall and made a certain charming young noblewoman choose between saving the templars and saving the mages? I'm pretty sure his name starts with an A and ends with an Nders. Oh and he wears a ridiculous feathered coat."

Anger flickered in his eyes for just a moment.

"Better a feathered coat than my own internal organs on the outside of my body. Who was it who put you back together again? I'm pretty sure it wasn't a certain young pig headed noblewoman with a penchant for getting herself skewered on templar swords. No, I believe it was a dashing young mage whose name begins with an A and ends with an Nders. And for your information, that feathered coat is not only all the rage in Orlais but it's damn comfortable. Damn comfortable."

She swung for his face and missed, pain shooting through her middle. Gasping, she collapsed back on her bedroll.

"If you wanted to keep me here, you should have just told me. No need to re-injure yourself on my behalf."

"Will you just go already?" she asked, "Let me die in peace."

"I'm not leaving, and you're not dying, my dear," he said, "I'll stay as long as it takes."

"Yeah, well no one asked you to-"

"Flaming Andraste woman, enough," he said, "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere until I know you're not going to drop dead. Deal with it."

The lies, the sneaking around, the way he'd tricked her into distracting the Grand Cleric while he planted his nasty little surprise-she felt it bubble up inside her. It wasn't fair. Why couldn't something go right for a change? That he'd been the one to save her was the Maker's own vengeful hand, punishing her for siding against Meredith. She's known it was a mistake the minute Sebastian threatened her with all the vengeance of Starkhaven.

"How did you find me?" she asked, "How are you here?"

For the first time, she realized they weren't in the clearing, surrounded by dead templars. He'd moved her to some kind of shelter. An old house or a shed of some kind. She wasn't certain where. The floor was rough and uneven, but she was bandaged up on her own bedroll, wrapped up in her own blanket. She was clean and warm and lord help him naked from the waist up.

She pulled the blanket higher. Her stomach fluttered at the thought of him undressing her. Even if it had been to save her life-

"I was a perfect gentleman," he said, "I didn't look. Much. I swear."

"And I suppose you have a pouch of Andraste's ashes you'd like to sell me," she said, "Just answer the question. How did you find me?"

He gave her the ghost of a smile.

"The templars were tracking me," he said, "You crossed paths by dumb luck. But Dog's the real hero. If he hadn't found me when he did...Marian. You nearly bled to death."

He stopped her when she tried to sit up. She felt weak, empty, drained, and her stomach was still one big throbbing pain. All the times he'd healed her before had healed her completely. Why this time did she feel as though she still had one foot in the grave?

"As I said, you nearly bled to death," he said, "I healed what I could, but you need rest. Your body needs time to replenish all the blood you lost."

She snorted.

"Great. It's not like I've got half a dozen bounty hunters on my trail or anything. I can stay here for as long as I want. How long does blood take to-er-regenerate?"

"Would you just stop. This isn't a joke."

She batted his hand away. She was in no mood for his recriminations.

"No kidding," she said, her gut reminding her with another stab of pain, "I'm the one with the near fatal wound here. I think I know better than anyone how serious this is."

"Clearly you don't or you wouldn't be so glib," he said.

"I'm not glib."

"What would you have done if I hadn't found you?" he asked, "Another victory for the templars. What a story that would have made. The Champion of Kirkwall brought to justice by Andraste's own."

"Always the templars and their cause. Is that all you care about? I know they almost killed me. I was there, remember?"

She practically spat the last part. She'd never really understood what people meant when they said they saw red, but she saw red now. She wanted to lash out, to hurt him the way he'd hurt her. After everything, all he could think to say to her was that her death would have been a victory for the templars. A Victory!

She'd been the one to send him away, but a part of her wanted to hear him say he would have mourned her loss. Forget the bloody cause for just a half a heartbeat. She knew that was unfair, but it was how she felt. Justice was a part of him. He'd never lied about that. He'd even warned her he'd break her heart, and that had been the lie.

He hadn't broken her heart, he'd smashed it into a million million million little pieces. It was a fine powder blowing in the wind.

"How can you question what I feel for you?" he asked.

"How can I not?"

He grabbed her shoulders, and all at once, he was yelling, screaming. The words ran together and tumbled over one another until she couldn't tell what he was saying. All she could hear was the fear in his voice and the rage and shades of Justice creeping through.

Dog growled at her side, ready to go for his throat. Damn Anders and his pet fade spirit. Damn Anders for forcing her to make an impossible choice. Damn Anders for everything stupid anyone had ever done in the history of stupid things. Damn him. And damn Sir Pounce-A-Lot too.

Somehow she worked an arm free and hit him once, hard across the face. He started, and some of the madness cleared from his eyes. Dog huffed and nosed his way between them, just in case.

"I'm sorry," Anders said, "I'm—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

He stumbled back, head in his hands, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Her heart twisted. It had been hard enough to send him away in Kirkwall; his stupid mistake hadn't changed the way she felt about him. No matter how she'd tried to kill it with the noxious potions Isabela claimed were alcohol, it was still there, burning, twisting, aching inside her. Maybe he'd felt the same way. Maybe sending him away had hurt him too.

"I don't know what to say," she said.

"Don't say anything," he said, "I made a mistake. I should have trusted you. For what it's worth, I love you. With all that I am. With all my heart. "

When he looked at her, she had to force herself to breathe. His brown eyes, his soft lips, the stubble across his chin-no matter how she tried to cling to her anger, one look from him and she was melting. If she didn't know better, she'd swear it was magic.

"We don't have to talk about this now, do we?" she asked.

"If not now, when?" he countered, "If we put this off, we may not get another chance. We're both outlaws now, and I know it's my fault."

"We both made our own choices-"

"Just please. Let me finish or I may never have the nerve," he said, "I don't regret what we did. What Justice and I set in motion. But I should have been, we should have been honest with you. I know that now. If I could go back and do it all over, I would have told you the truth."

Dog, unimpressed by his declaration, yawned and settled with his head on his paws.

"Would it help to tell you I rehearsed that? No? I didn't think so," he said, "But I mean it, if I could go back, I would."

"I know. We can-we'll talk about it later," she said, "But first, can you do me a favor?"

The corner of his mouth twitched and he gave her a crooked smile.

"Name it," he said.

"Shut up and kiss me."

She leaned forward, reaching over Dog. Her fingers curled along Anders' jaw to tangle in his hair; he didn't resist when she pulled him close and kissed him hard. His lips parted and she felt his tongue dart out. It wasn't every day a girl was brought back from the brink of death by the apostate of her dreams. Might as well make the best of it.


End file.
